The Quantum

By Dabeagle

email

Chapter Sixteen

I let out a sigh of relief upon leaving Eleanor’s house. Jake looked as though his mind was in overdrive—probably trying to figure out how he’d landed in this situation—or trying to figure out how to get out of it.

"Hey, you’re not going to try and make me go alone, are you?" I asked him pointedly. He glanced at me and smiled.

"I was trying to think if there was a way to do just that, and not get in trouble."

"No, there isn’t a way."

He sighed deeply. I knew just how he felt.

The garage was quiet when we entered, save for the sound of my grandfather in the kitchen. He had a couple of pots going at once, and more than a little overflow on the stove top. He informed Jake that his mother wanted him home, and after a ten minute goodbye, I rejoined my grandfather in the kitchen.

"Hand me that spoon, would you?"

"What are you making?" I handed him the large wooden cooking spoon.

"It’s a surprise."

"You forgot didn’t you?"

"No, I did not forget," he said glaring at me. "It just doesn’t look anything like the picture."

"I guess you should stick to mechanics." I giggled at him.

"Yeah, well."

"How did you get into mechanics anyway, grandpa?"

"I’ve always tinkered. My grandfather was something of a mechanic as well. I still have a lot of his tools. I’ve worked or fooled around with machinery as long as I can remember."

"Did you work with your grandfather on your first car too?"

"No, nothing like that." He sat down across from me and his eyes clearly said they were no longer seeing anything in the room. "I can remember the first job I had -- that was in a gas station. Back then, they all had a service area to go along with serving gas. Back then we really did serve gas, too. Checked the oil, fluids, topped the tank off, and the driver never got out of the seat."

"Ever have to hotwire a car?" I smiled at him.

"I tried once!" he laughed. "In the town I lived in, there were these two gas stations: a Richfield and a Sunoco. This happened before I went to work at the station, but we used to hang out at the Sunoco, my friends and I. On the same side of the street, there was a Pontiac dealer that had gone under. The building was set up so that the ground angled down in the back so that you could drive into a low set of garage bays. They had this old Hillman in there; it was an English car, six volt system."

"Six volt?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, cars back then were mostly six volt systems, then they went to twelve. Just shows how old and underpowered it was. Plain looking thing, the Hillman. Anyway, my dad was out of town, had taken my mother to a funeral down south and I was staying with my grandparents. I had a paper route and I took some of my money one week and went to a local tractor dealer and bought a little six volt battery."

Grandpa stood and went back to stirring a pot before continuing, "So I put this battery in my nice canvas paper bag and snuck into the dealership. I put the battery in and fiddled with the wires underneath for a while. I got it to turn over, but it wouldn’t start. Kinda figures though. If it ran they’d have driven it to auction or sold it, you know?"

"You tried to steal it?" I was incredulous.

"Yeah, I figured I’d joyride in it, no harm done. I’m lucky I didn’t give myself a nasty shock. I couldn’t get it started though. Couple weeks later I was over at the Sunoco and they were auctioning off the last of the stuff over there. When they got to the car they said you might be able to hotwire it and take it home, then the announcer says to the crowd ‘Looks like someone already tried that!’"

He chuckled to himself and I tried to picture my grandfather as he realized the auctioneer was talking about his handiwork under that Hillman’s dashboard.

"Wow, you didn’t get caught or punished at all for that?" I asked.

"Well, I did have to replace my paper bag. See, the battery was leaking and when I washed it, that thing fell apart to nothing but rags!" He cackled at the memory and I smiled at him. The story made him feel so human, not just a teaching machine who knew how to spin a wrench and dispense wisdom all at once. He’d been young once, gotten in trouble or nearly had.

"Well, dinner is done."

"What is it?" I asked, peering into the pot.

"I don’t think it really needs a name since there is no way in hell I could make the exact same thing twice."

I thought on this for a moment as I looked at the mass in the pot.

"I’ll get my coat," I said.

"I’ll meet you in the car."

**

I fell asleep early that night, and dreamed of opera, except this was an opera no one had ever seen. I think Jake was something of a Juliet, high on a balcony, and I was some type of Romeo. Then of course we changed places, and shortly thereafter Bryan showed up, dressed in black but with an expression of sorrow. One got the impression not of a villain, but a man in mourning.

I am never eating Yip’s that late again.

I made coffee and toast in the morning, and then threw the blackened toast away. We really need a new toaster, and if it weren’t for that little bit of timidness that my father had beat into me, I might have told grandpa that already. It seems as though my father still touches me even now. I stepped into the brisk morning air, the temperature change a shock to my exposed cheeks and hands. Note to self: need gloves. The snow had not been light and fluffy, but heavy and wet. It had hardened overnight and it crunched under my feet as I trod towards school. My breath plumed in front of me, and when the wind kicked up my eyes watered with the bitter cold. I think the inside of my nose had frozen.

I finally reached the school. No longer able to feel my feet, I relied on memory to get me to my locker. No sooner did I get the door open than Jake bounced up to me.

"Hey you," he smiled.

"Hey," I replied with a shiver as I shucked my coat.

"You look cold!"

I eyed him, and he just smiled back perkily. "Didn’t your grandfather bring you to school?"

"No," I replied as I gathered my books.

"Why didn’t you call then? Mom would have come to get you when she dropped me off."

"I guess I just didn’t think of it," I admitted.

"How are my favorite fags?" JR smiled at us as he approached. Jake slugged him, and I didn’t have the energy to respond.

"What was that for?" JR asked while rubbing his arm.

"Favorite fags? What’s wrong with you?" Jake pounced on JR.

"Sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it, but I will say this. I think you should shrug it off and be what you are and don’t act like the words ‘fag’, ‘queer’, and ‘gay’ mean something’s wrong with you. I know it can be a mean thing to say, but maybe if you used the words you wouldn’t be so afraid of what they mean." JR smiled at Jake. "Besides, you are my favorite fags."

"That’s not really the point, JR. I don’t like being called that anymore than anyone else likes being referred to with a racial slur. I know that, rationally, they are only words. But they can still hurt."

I turned JR’s words over in my head while Jake carried on the conversation with him. I suppose he did have a valid viewpoint. After all, there were always people that were going to make a big deal out of sexuality or race or just about anything that they have the opportunity to fight over, but that didn’t mean I had to be one of them. I had a choice, and I guess I was kind of lucky to have realized it; some never do.

I headed to first period, leaving Jake and JR deep in discussion as to the terms JR used to describe us. I didn’t care for the words, but they were only words and they couldn’t hurt me. I noted a few odd looks in the hallways, and tried to stick to my idea that I had a choice in this. I could decide how I would deal with the looks and the taunts that were sure to follow.

I took my seat and sat stiffly through roll call, I just couldn’t help myself. The class fell to chatter and half-heard snippets of conversation around me. A blond girl I had never noticed before sat in front of me and cleared her throat to get my attention.

"Hi, I’m Amanda Marshall." She extended her hand tentatively, and I took her hand with hesitation. She flashed an encouraged smile.

"I was in the parking lot the other day, I heard what Bryan said. Is it true?"

Well, I guess this was the fist big test of my new theory on not allowing others to control how I feel about myself.

"Yes," I said softly, then cleared my throat and repeated myself in a stronger voice. "Yes, it’s true."

"My uncle is too. He grew up a few towns over. I didn’t understand at first, but my parents explained it all to me. Bryan seemed like your friend before, I hope you guys can work that out." She smiled again, then got up and walked away from me, leaving me feeling scared and relieved all in one. I could only hope they would all be that easy.

Jake met me for lunch, and I felt safer. JR joined us and grinned insolently. I have no idea why he was so happy.

Someone muttered ‘fag’ as we walked by. JR turned on his heel, as if waiting for just such an opportunity. "Very good! You got a whole three letter word out! Did you think of that all by yourself?"

"Fuck you!" came the intelligent reply.

"You want to fuck me? So wait, you’re a fag too? Wow, they really are everywhere!" JR seemed to be warming to his audience, giggles came from some corners of the room. I felt a bit ill and couldn’t help wondering why JR was doing this. Up till now he had been quiet, just another motorhead, and now he wanted to be a stand up comedian?

The source of this particular trouble looked to his friends for support, but they just laughed at him. I would imagine fear of embarrassment spurred him on. "What’d you call me?" The guy stood and turned his tall frame to face JR.

"Oh no! Three letters and you forgot the word already? Score one for the motorheads, we really are smarter than we get credit for!" JR smiled patronizingly and added in a stage whisper, "Don’t worry, we’ll get you special classes."

"What’s going on here?" Jess demanded.

"None of your business, bitch," the cause of our troubles growled at Jess. In retrospect I think the big jerk made the remark to her because it was a new, easy target.

That’s when things got really weird. For just a moment I thought it was all a dream, that Bryan had never said a word and that people thought Jess and I were dating. The reason I thought this was because the mountain that had cornered me in the halls, the one who had made all those horrible memories of home come crashing back into my new, happy existence, had stood and was now bearing down on the situation.

"You…you leave her alone!" The newcomer pointed his finger at the antagonist as he stuttered out his warning.

"Sit down Joey, let the men handle this."

"N..No! You don’t call her n..nn..names!" The fellow seemed to be very upset, or maybe he stuttered all the time, but there was no mistaking his posture as he stood between Jess and JR and the fellow with the limited vocabulary.

"Joey, if you’re so concerned, get her out of here," he snarled.

"You apologize!"

"Joey." Jess put a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, honey. No fighting."

What the hell was going on here?

"Yeah, Joey, do what you’re told. No fighting, you idiot." The bigot’s table rumbled with laughter.

"Well Tom, I’ll bet that’s the first time you’ve met someone you could say that to. Joey may not be an honors student, but he knows enough not to act like an asshole—unlike you." Jess glared at the jerk, now identified as Tom.

"You all a bunch of fag lovers? What the hell? Yesterday there’s one, now there’s a hag to go with it and a moron to protect him?"

"Don’t forget the motorhead contingent," JR joined Joey and Jess.

I really couldn’t tell you what else was said, my brain had gone into overload trying to process Joey. I was fighting it in my head, the small hallway and the overwhelming feeling of my house in New York, and the paralyzing terror of seeing him again. I heard the heavy footsteps, the creak of the floorboards and the smell, the smell of him.

"Kris, what’s wrong?" Jake’s voice flitted across my consciousness. His voice was not with me now, couldn’t be. I was in New York, looking at my doorway as my father approached. I tried desperately to think about what I had done, and how I might yet avoid an ass whipping. Had I turned off my alarm in time? Was my window open when it should be closed or vice versa? Had I taken out the trash? Did I take it out before it was full and thus waste the bag that wasn’t completely full? What had I done?

"Kris, you’re scaring me. Kris?" My head turned involuntarily towards the sound of Jake’s voice and my eyes slowly focused on his expression, the facial features that were pulling me out of the past and back to Pennsylvania.

"It’s him, Jake. That’s the guy that got me in the hallway."

Jake’s eyes went wide as he turned and took in the now defused situation. One of the lunch personnel that made sure we were supervised had broken up the impending fight. Jess was talking to Joey, touching his arm in a comforting way.

"That big guy right there?" Jake asked softly. I merely nodded in response. Jake pressed down on my shoulders and I sat at our table, still scared but not in my father’s house anymore. No, Jake was here, and so I was not in New York. Jake stepped up to Jess and Joey and began to speak with them. He pointed at me once and Joey hung his head. Jess put a finger under his chin and made him make eye contact with her. She seemed to be speaking to him in a stern fashion, not exactly a great shock to anyone who knew her.

Joey approached me and I shrank into my chair. His expression could only be called bashful and as he approached I could see he was close to crying. This was not what I expected. What was he crying about?

"Mister Kris, I’m real sorry for what I did that day. I didn’t mean to scare ya’ like that. I mean, I did, but Jessica told me I was wrong, and I’m sorry, mister. I’m real sorry. I’m Joey," he said as he stuck out a huge hand.

"Kris? It’s ok, just shake his hand." Jake sat down next to me. I felt my hand get enveloped in Joey’s paw. His face broke out in a huge smile, a very simple smile. He turned from me to get Jessica’s approval and I was suddenly struck with a literary reference. I used to read Stephen King religiously. In ‘The Stand’ there was an enormous simpleton named Tom who spelled everything ‘moon’. He’s say ‘I’m Tom, m-o-o-n that spells Tom!’ Joey struck the same chord, I could even see him saying the lines to Jessica in his sudden fit of pleasure over having done what she had told him.

"Turns out Joey lives next door to Jess. He goes to special classes, that’s why none of us knew him. I guess Jess watches him sometimes and Joey developed this idea that she was his girl. He’s a little protective," Jake smirked.

I remained silent. I suppose I felt a little foolish at having panicked. I felt more than a little dumb for every threatening situation making me a slave to my father. I wondered how long Jake would put up with that.

"So, you ready to tell me what you got me for Christmas yet?" Jake asked.

"Do you think of anything besides what I got you for Christmas?" I asked with out looking at him.

"Yeah, but the other thing on my mind we can’t do in public." I looked at him in shock.

"What? You’re good at it! You think I don’t want more?" My mouth hung open and I felt a pleased blush and a growing sense of pride that I had made him feel good.

"What did I miss?" Jess sat down and looked from my face to his and waited.

"I don’t think I can say," I smiled and blushed.

"I was telling him he’s good in the sack," Jake told her in a stage whisper.

"Jake!"

"What?"

"Don’t say things like that in public!"

"Is he saying how good you are again?" JR asked as he rejoined the table. I put my head down on the table while they all giggled, and planned a long talk with my boy Jake.

Next Chapter Previous Chapter